


Signature

by Phixie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Not Epilogue Compliant, Party Games, Top!Harry, bottom!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 14:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18096113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phixie/pseuds/Phixie
Summary: Almost everyone was praising Harry, so it's expected that his mind gets stuck on the first person to insult him, right?-Harry's sick of all the compliments. Malfoy doesn't have any to give.





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**Author's Note:**

> Pansy Parkinson is my hero.  
> I hope you enjoy this story that absolutely consumed me for three days. I literally could not stop writing it.  
> Here I am, finishing it at 4:30 in the morning.  
> It's basically wholesome humor with a dash of smut, or vise versa.  
> With notable appearances by:  
> Theo Nott (who is quite frankly, very relatable to write), Horace Slughorn, Luna Lovegood (my baby), Ginny Weasley (my other baby), Padma and Parvati Patil, Megan Jones (Who? You ask. A Hufflepuff from Harry's year, I say. Carry on.), Susan Bones, Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bulstrode, and Ernie Macmillan.  
> Harry and Draco, I love you with all my heart, you strong, angsty babies.  
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos always appreciated. <3

“The difference between using toad and frog is not one commonly taken seriously…” Professor Slughorn babbled on, bumping his large belly into the edge of tables and spitting alliterations over the faces of those students he hobbled past.

It was an incredibly slow Wednesday morning, and Harry could name several things he’d rather be doing than double Potions with the Slytherins. He looked around the room, the specks of dust floating in the air illuminated by the light coming through the iron-barred windows, enlightening the old cauldrons and flickering contents of old potion bottles on the shelves.

His classmates seemed just as bored as Harry was, Parkinson resting her chin on her palm as she blew her bangs out of her face with a huff. Nott picking at his nails, foot tapping against the floor next to her. Harry watched in amusement as she elbowed him to stop bouncing his knee.

Neville seemed particularly interested in this lecture, as it was about the importance the diet had on carnivorous and herbivorous ingredients used in potions. He sat up on his stool, elbows on the table as he leant over it in interest. Hermione blinked, a bit too slowly, before catching herself slipping and perked up, continuing on with her notes. Ron, on the other hand, had his eyes closed. Harry kicked him under the table.

“Whoa, what?” Ron flinched, loudly enough to interrupt the calm serenity of the classroom and Slughorn’s mumbling.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley, did you have a question?” Slughorn inquired, absentmindedly fiddling with his tie.

Ron blinked, wiping the corner of his mouth. “No sir, sorry.”

Parkinson snickered from across the room. Greengrass, next to Zabini, grinned as well.

Slughorn smiled. “Very well then. Where were we? Ah, yes, daffodils virus clovers. Now, if you remember…”

“Git.” Ron murmured, shifting uncomfortably on his stool. Harry laughed.

“Mr. Potter! You’re looking exceptionally attentive to the lesson today.” Slughorn bursted, and Harry heard someone scoff from behind him as he flicked his attention to the professor, now standing at the other side of his table.

“Er, thanks.”

More snickers from Parkinson.

Slughorn looked down at Harry’s notes, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth as he read through them. Harry expected to be reprimanded, but, “Ah, I always did think that only writing down the truly important things was the way to go. Well done, Mr. Potter. Extraordinary!”

Harry almost wanted to laugh, the disbelief bubbling in his chest. Here it was again, a prime example of arse-kissing. In some of his first classes of his eighth year, he’d noticed the teachers, students, even Madam Pince, feeding him compliments and treating him with the utmost respect. He now looked around the room in embarrassment, seeing two Gryffindor girls smile at him admirably. Slughorn dropped the notebook back down before continuing his incoherent muttering on the cruciality of millimeter difference, when Hermione leant over and snatched up his notes.

“Hey!” Harry complained.

“Hey yourself,” she whispered back, “You’ve written three things, and one of them is the date!”

Harry felt himself get warm. “You think I don’t know that?”

Ron stirred in his seat from where he’d almost fallen asleep once more. “What happened?” he asked.

Hermione scoffed, sliding the notebook back in front of Harry.

Class continued on smoothly, long sun rays warming the room further, spelling Harry more drowsy. The assignment was to identify and differentiate between listed ingredients, and when Hermione refused to help Harry, Slughorn happily gave the answers to him, as well as an eavesdropping Ron, and congratulated him on copying them down correctly. Harry’s jaw begun to hurt from clenching his teeth.

When they were dismissed, Harry was happy to shove his work into his bag and exit the room alongside his friends.

“It’s ridiculous,” he began, folding up his sleeves as he walked. Ron yawned. Hermione raised her brows as if she didn’t know the subject of his upcoming rant. “Everyone’s treating me as though, as though I’m some, some—“

“Hero?” Hermione suggested.

“Blessing from above?” Ron motioned.

Harry groaned, “Exactly!”

His two friends laughed. “Mate,” Ron began, “After everything, what’d you expect?”

Harry took a while to respond, shuffling towards the Great Hall for lunch. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“It seems we agree on that. You don’t deserve special treatment.” Hermione expressed.

Harry and Ron stopped walking and looked to her. As usual, her curls were frizzed out from the humidity of Potions.

She visibly stuttered. “I just mean... yes. You very well did what you did in May, but you most definitely did not take ‘extraordinary’ notes in Potions today! If anything, mine—“

Ron cut her off, “Okay Harry, yeah. We get it. It sucks. But just remember,” he pursed his lips, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “you’re still clumsy, smelly, wee-ol’ Harry to us.”

Harry was just about to counter that he, in fact, wasn’t “wee”, when a sudden light voice came from his left, causing him to flinch. “I don’t think he’s smelly.”

Luna pinched his jumper at his bicep and sniffed it, causing Harry’s heart to speed up in confusion, not knowing what was suddenly happening. “He smells quite nice, actually. Like fresh laundry.”

Harry’s eyes squinted in confusion, his lip curling in uncertainty. Ron met his gaze with the same look before he laughed at his expression, along with the oddity at the change in conversation.

After whacking her brother on the back of the head in greeting, Ginny wrapped an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder, the blonde lifting her hand to intertwine their fingers. “Laundry?” Ginny questioned.

Ron rubbed the back of his head. “We’re just saying that Harry here smells like fresh laundry.”

Hermione scoffed, seemingly no longer annoyed by the lack of justice in Potions. “Harry doesn’t smell like laundry. He smells like… like sweets.”

Harry was reminded of Honeydukes, and apparently Ron was as well, with the sudden look of interest at him. He raised a brow in question, and Ron smacked him jokingly.

Arriving at the Entrance Hall, a sharp slap rung out over the conversations of their fellow students, followed by a squeal. Harry looked over to Hermione, who was flushing dark pink and smoothing the back of her robes down. He then spotted Parkinson running away through the crowd with Nott, giggling over her shoulder.

“Did she just—“ Harry began.

“Smack Hermione’s arse? Yeah.” Ron concluded, laughing even further. Harry looked over at the now fully disheveled Hermione.

“She always does that!” She complained, fighting a smile.

“Well, you did kiss her… on the first day… in the Great Hall… in front of everyone…” Ron supplied, “It must be payback.”

Hermione clutched her books tighter.

The Hall was roaring with noise, mixed with the yells of laughter from friends and silverware scraping against plates. The ceiling was charmed to show the sunny day that it was, not too unsurprising for early September. Harry and his friends made their way to the Gryffindor table, Ginny leaving to sit with Luna at hers.

While he was sitting down on the bench, a girl from Hufflepuff turned in her seat and called Harry’s name.

“Hey Harry, I saw you on the Quidditch pitch yesterday. You’re so talented, but maybe I can show you how _I_ ride?”

Harry choked on his next inhale. In the corner of his eyes he saw Ron sniggering into the back of his hand. He looked to Hermione for help, but her jaw was dropped too far in disgust that he doubted she’d be able to answer.

Harry looked back to the girl, her brown waves falling over her year eight robes, her lips smirking, eyes widened in faux innocence.

“I don’t know, my preferences are a bit _rough_ , sorry.”

The girl flushed immediately, her friends breaking out into whispered giggles behind her.

He turned back to his table. Ron’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head at this point. “Well mate, I mean, if you’re not gonna…” he motioned to the Hufflepuffs.

Harry looked over his shoulder at the girl one last time, who was now speaking with her friends. “By all means Ron, let her ride your ‘broom’.”

“What’s this about riding brooms?” Parkinson inquired, slipping down across from them and next to Hermione, snapping a baby carrot in her mouth.

Hermione groaned into her hands. “Girls are flirting with Harry again.”

“Ah,” Pansy said, unbothered. “Well, no surprise there, look at him, he saved the world and all of a sudden he’s bloody gorgeous.”

Anger flickered in Harry’s chest. Hermione looked up, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and Ron snickered into his potatoes.

Parkinson looked between them in confusion. “What? Practically all of Slytherin wants some of his half-blood c—“

The bench screeched as Hermione stood abruptly, grabbing her books and bag.

“Hermione—“ Harry began.

“It’s not you, Harry.” she smiled softly, before scowling down at the bobbed girl. “It’s the indecency of my girlfriend, smacking my arse and talking about… about…” she raised her eyebrows, widening her eyes, “at the table!”

Parkinson pouted at her back as she marched towards the doors, before grabbing another carrot and turning to Harry and Ron.

“Well boys, plan worked. Flustered Granger to take care of.” she winked, and stood up.

Ron laughed and turned back to ogle the Hufflepuff girl, and Harry scoffed and stared down at his food, still feeling slightly heated. First Slughorn, then Luna and Hermione, then the Hufflepuff, then Parkinson. In just about under an hour. Harry wasn’t perfect, wasn’t some good-doing, eye-candy saint. He was just, well, Harry, and he longed for others to see that too.

Otherwise, lunch hour went by particularly quick. When Harry had finished his food, he opened his notes and began comparing them to Ron’s, only Ron had written just one thing, the date, which he had gotten wrong.

“Hermione always ends up sharing hers,” Ron explained from behind his mug.

Harry scoffed through a smile, and said goodbye to his friend before heading to the dorms before Charms.

Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean made the room as comfortable, messy, and homey as Harry’d ever seen it. He spent most of his free time in the old Gryffindor common room with Ron though, pretending they weren’t just trying to give Seamus and Dean their privacy to _Muffliato_ in peace. There he could talk Quidditch with Ginny, tutor shy and still-polite first years, or even just relax on his favorite couch.

He’d heard from Hermione that the different groups of eighth year students were distributed around the castle in refurbished old classrooms or training halls. Apparently herself and the other female Gryffindors were near the library, which she beamed over the whole first week. She didn’t express if she knew where the other eighth year rooms were though, and Harry didn’t ask.

The halls were now littered with students, sitting on the benches, deep window sills, or even the floor, whispering, arguing, giggling. Harry’s thoughts found his frustrations once more. With the added compliments came added expectations, and Harry definitely did not want anybody expecting any more from him. He figured he’d done enough to last a lifetime, and was far over the special treatment.

“Why the long face, Potter?”

Harry’s gaze snapped to his right, finding an up and coming Malfoy, walking tall with his hands in his pockets. Harry almost groaned aloud, rolling his eyes and continuing walking. Zabini strode with Malfoy, a smirk on his annoyingly handsome face.

Harry was not in the mood to bicker with him, and feared he wouldn’t spit out an equally sarcastic or witty response to whatever was coming.

“Blaise, are you seeing this?” Malfoy continued, approaching Harry, who discretely tried to walk faster. Anger prickled at his skin. “I swear, a house elf could have dressed him better.”

Harry stopped walking. Froze, actually, eyebrows pulling together. He turned to face the blonde before exclaiming, “Thank you!”

Because finally, finally someone didn’t praise him, or compliment him, or come onto him. Finally someone gave him the truth, and saw him for how he was… insulting as it may be.

The git stood still then, almost stunned in place at the thanks, eyes squinted in suspicion. Next to him, Zabini’s mouth frowned in confusion as he looked to his taller friend.

“What?” Malfoy said, a bit quieter than his prior insult. Zabini’s gaze flicked between the two of them.

Harry decided to go along with it, putting on a small and hopefully believable smile. “I said thank you.” he went on, hand on his bag clenching. “Maybe I’ll ask them for some advice.” Harry looked Malfoy up and down then, taking in his all black attire. “Or you, since you dress so well.”

Malfoy took a minuscule step back, and in his peripheral Harry saw Zabini flash a smile, but he was too busy drinking in the confused look on Malfoy’s face. It filled his chest with warmth, shocking Malfoy like this, so he added a “see you”, and turned and walked on.

*

Charms couldn’t end fast enough. It was with the Ravenclaws, so thankfully Harry needn’t worry about seeing Malfoy after their strange encounter. He didn’t know what to think of it. It wasn’t as if his relationship with Malfoy wasn’t already weird. They’d had a very short, not sweet conversation in which Harry had returned his wand and they settled the dust between them, deciding to forgive and, well, continue on with the bickering and snide comments (Malfoy, at least). They were not as common, maybe having happened five times in the last week, but the first time Malfoy called Harry “scar head” again was one of the things that made Harry fall back into comfortability at Hogwarts. Candles hanging from the ceiling? Check. Ghosts floating through the walls? Check. Malfoy being a complete posh arsehole? Check.

*

His glasses lay on the sinks in the bathroom, the mirrors fogged with the heavy, damp air that a hot shower brings. Harry sighed, no longer feeling as frustrated as he did earlier in the day. He’d made it through classes and the week was more than halfway over. The water beat onto his back, soothing his muscles. The air smelled of his cleansing potion, and he held the bottle to his nose and gave a sniff.

Hermione was right. It did smell like sweets.

He exhaled as he set it back down, throwing his head back and letting the water hit his face and hair, before turning and lathering under the pressure of it. Pleasure filled his senses, the sweet smell filling the air, the warm relaxation of the water, the dim candle light of the bathroom, and _oh._

Harry was getting hard.

 _Seriously?_ He thought. _That’s all it takes?_

It had been a while, with the preparing for the new term and start of classes, the uneasiness of being back at Hogwarts… He thought of his roommates and spelled the door locked. Seamus and Dean likely were down the hall, under a silencing spell as well as the sheets. Ron was possibly in the library, or on the Quidditch pitch with that Hufflepuff, or in a broom cupboard with that Hufflepuff… And Neville was likely with Hannah Abott, studying elsewhere.

The thought made Harry stutter mentally, all of his roommates had someone, unlike him. His hand sliding down his stomach reminded him that this was an unimportant thought for later, and he wrapped his hand around himself. The setting itself was nice, watching himself get harder in his fingers with slow strokes as he twisted his wrist slightly. Harry’s eyes fell shut as he backed against the wall, his head tilting back to the tile behind him. His hand sped up, alternating between pumping faster around himself and wrapping harder at the base. His other hand dropped to cup his balls and massage them slowly as a bead of precome formed at the slit, and he ran his thumb over it before dipping inside slightly, teasing himself.

He closed his eyes once more, imagining the feeling of a mouth on his cock, his fingers intwined in blond hair, and mirrored the movements in his mind with his hand, edging himself closer and closer to release. His mouth hung open, his breathing heavy and hair damp against his forehead. The sound of the water masked the noise he was making, quiet groans as the pleasure in his cock flooded his stomach, his chest, hardening his nipples, and flowed down his legs.

He slowed down when he got close, gripping himself tighter at the bottom of his cock to postpone his release, before speeding up again and bringing himself right back to the edge.

The thought of someone then crossed his mind. Lifting them against a wall, wrestling them in bed, their crotches grinding together, their sweat pooling, breath mixing. Blond hair against black. A fight for dominance, wrists bruised and pleasureful insults spat. The thought of someone calling, moaning, screaming his name. The thought of fucking someone to their orgasm, being a mutual weakness, an exclusive fuck, drove Harry over the edge.

A groan from the back of his throat escaped as he came over his fist and shower floor in hot spurts, fucking his hand until his legs were trembling. His toes curled as his orgasm pumped through him, rendering him breathless and slouched against the wall. The shower erased any evidence, and Harry breathed heavy through his mouth as his head rest against the tile. He couldn’t help but wonder when he began to imagine blonds.

*

Harry could definitely say that he was feeling better the next morning. Partially because of his heavy stress reliever in the shower the previous night, and partially because the quiet night of studying and slow morning with his friends had caused him to forget about his over-complimentary peers.

It was a slow walk to breakfast through the corridors, and Harry smiled to himself when he’d passed the spot where he’d stumped Malfoy yesterday.

Harry found himself thinking of the incident several times since it happened: the subtle pink tint that’d hit Malfoy’s pale cheeks, his very apparent stutter...

“What’s got you looking like that?” Ron poked from next to him, fixing his own tie.

“Like what?” Harry faked, then changed the subject. “Look who it is.”

Ron looked down the hall, following Harry’s gaze, spotting the Hufflepuff girl from yesterday.

“How did that go?” Harry inquired as Ron stiffly nodded his head to her. She waved back, not stopping her conversation with her friends. Ron only smiled to Harry before looking down at his feet as they walked. Harry’s heart jumped for his friend, “You didn’t!”

Ron laughed, shushing Harry as they passed her. “No, we didn’t, but we got pretty damn close.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head, secretly thankful he hadn’t fallen for her sucubus-like seduction.

“What can I say?” Ron defended. “I’ve just got it in me.”

“You’ve got what in you?” Parkinson called, strutting up with Hermione under her arm, who was looking at some work.

“Megan Jones, apparently.” Hermione mumbled, only looking up to kiss Harry and Ron’s cheeks in greeting.

Harry laughed. Ron stuttered, “What— how do you know?”

Hermione smiled up at him. “Practically everyone in my dorm was giggling over you and her sneaking down to the pitch at eight o’clock.”

Ron groaned, “Bloody brilliant.”

Harry looked to the two girls to his left, heading to the Great Hall with him. “And you two? Seems you’ve made up.”

Hermione visibly flushed, Parkinson replacing her arm around her shoulder. “I’ve agreed to not smack her arse, _in public_ , nor speak about Harry’s pined over …male parts.”

“And I’ve agreed to… relax a bit.” Hermione breathed, muttering a “whatever that means” to herself.

The four continued talking on their way to breakfast, the trio greeting those that greeted them, and Parkinson obnoxiously thanking them for her acknowledgement as well. “What’s a girl gotta do around here?” she barked. “Hunt horcruxes?”

Harry breathed a laugh, “Apparently.”

Parkinson hummed. “Know any dark lords, Harry?”

Harry chuckled, though the slightest twinge struck his heart. He was still getting used to her Slytherin humor.

“Well, if it isn’t the famous trio, escorted by the traitor.”

Parkinson rolled her eyes, “Good morning, Draco.”

Malfoy pushed off the wall he was leaning against, to the left of the Great Hall doors, flanked by Nott and Goyle. Zabini stood with arms crossed, awaiting the up and coming amusement.

Ron tensed from next to Harry. Hermione didn’t bother to look up.

“Pansy.” Malfoy acknowledged, “Granger, Weasel.”

Hermione gave a curt smile in his direction, putting her coursework away. Ron stayed quiet.

“Do you miss me that much, darling?” Parkinson teased. “Can’t stand me getting close with the ‘enemy’?”

“Oh please.” Malfoy spat. “Just don’t want you to catch anything.”

Parkinson laughed, tightening her grip on Hermione before kissing her hair.

Harry, on the other hand, was waiting impatiently. This morning he’d decided to carry on messing with Malfoy, and would continue to be grateful for his views on himself. He’d dressed, well, noticeably different. In a blazer opposed to his usual sweater or hoodie (eighth year dress code was more lenient), along with proper trousers and a tie. Ron had greeted him with a “what the bloody hell are you wearing?”, so Harry figured he’d done something right.

His friends had come to stop in front of the four.

“Good morning, Malfoy.” Harry smirked, tucking his hands in his pockets. He could see Ron’s head whip towards him. Zabini’s smile landed once again on his face.

Malfoy sneered instantly, inclining his head in confusion before sizing Harry up, taking in his appearance. “What’re you playing at, Potter?”

Harry let his eyes drift over Malfoy briefly, before meeting his eyes again. “I’m not playing at all, actually.”

Parkinson elbowed his side. Harry planted a smug smile on his face as he took in Malfoy’s petrified expression, before walking off and entering the hall, his friends shocked quiet behind him.

He slumped into a seat on the bench, all his energy having left him from the amount of composure that took. Ron dropped his bag down heavy next to him, before settling down himself. “Mate… _what?_ ”

Hermione and Parkinson arrived next, sitting across from them in their usual spots. Hermione looked quite pleased, Parkinson’s ears perked for listening.

Harry took a breath and smiled, “Just messing with Malfoy.”

“Messing with him?” Ron scoffed, snagging some toast. “Harry, you were  _flirting_ with him!”

Harry froze on the way to grab some juice. He looked to Hermione in question. She nodded.

“Flirting?” He repeated. “No, I was just being overly-polite.”

“You practically stripped him nude with your eyes, mate.” Well of course Harry didn’t _mean_ to.

Parkinson snorted, “Potter. Explain, now.”

Harry dropped his bacon, before looking to his friends. “You know how yesterday I was complaining about everyone… praising me?”

Hermione sighed, picking up a mug. “Oh dear…”

Parkinson laughed, “No, go on, Potter.”

Harry’s cheeks heated. “Well, Malfoy then insulted me. As usual. But it was refreshing. So I, erm, thanked him.”

“You thanked him.” Ron repeated.

Harry nodded, suppressing a laugh. “Yeah. And he got so upset that I didn’t bite back, so I decided to keep it going, you know? Keep being nice to him.”

Parkinson cackled, covering her mouth. “This is why he was so pissy in the library yesterday! He didn’t get his dose of Potter sarcasm!”

Harry looked over and raised his brows. “He was?”

She inclined her chin. “He was. Man is he going to be a snit today. Shit Potter, didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Is this why you’ve dressed nicely today?” Hermione inquired.

Harry got warmer. “Yeah, he commented on how I dressed, so I complimented him, and then got inspired, I guess.”

Parkinson stomped her feet under the table in delight as Ron laughed, shaking his head. “He dresses like a goth vampire.”

“All vampires are goth.” Hermione joked.

“Hey! If there’s one thing Draco can do, it’s _dress._ Back off.” Parkinson defended through a smile.

“Oi! Just messing.” Ron turned to Harry. “You must be awfully bored, with no wars to fight.”

Harry shoved him.

*

Transfiguration hadn’t been the same since McGonagall left the post to become headmistress. The new professor was short, stubborn, and liked patting her students on the head or poking them with the tip of her wand. Harry was often amused in this class, though strict she was, and found it difficult to pay attention.

Today was particularly difficult.

Harry sat in the middle column of desks, surprisingly interested in today’s lesson. They were leaning to craft a magical signature on transfigured items, unique to themselves and their magic. The new professor’s signature was a series of swirls and dents, perfectly replicated with every change of one item to another. She explained that once perfected, a signature could replicate even a particular object, special to the witch or wizard crafting. The only object that Harry could think of at first, was of course, a snitch. But Hermione had suggested that perhaps a feather would be more suitable and rather nice, representing Hedwig, Sirius and Buckbeak, and his love for flying. Harry hadn’t expected a Thursday morning Transfiguration lesson to bring forth feelings so deep inside of him.

There were also girls to the right, the lot of them, flushing when Harry looked over, or giving small waves. Harry didn’t think Transfiguration would make him feel as miffed, either.

Yet, this isn’t why Harry was having trouble focusing. The class, like many of Harry’s others, consisted of all of the small amount of eighth year students that there were. So his friends, carefully assigned their seats far from Harry, were all present, making faces or levitating chalk from their seats to make him laugh. Hermione, next to him, found herself smiling as well, though she tried to hide it, she had failed to from Harry.

Zabini, one of the prime students that he was, had kept the professor’s attention on himself as Seamus wrote, rather sloppily, “Potter Stinks” on the chalkboard. Malfoy’s attempts at self composure, being the prime student that _he_ was, failed, and his sneer was commented on by the professor with a poke and a pat on the head. “Cheer up, Malfoy.” she had said, making Harry smile.

When it was time to practice their signatures on transfiguring a jewelry box into a delicate case, the students moved around to partner up with their preferred friends. The professor squealed in apology when she discovered the graffiti on her chalkboard, and when she tried to erase it, squealed again, for it then stated, “Potter Really Stinks”.

Her cheeks turned red, in anger or embarrassment Harry didn’t know, as she claimed, “Whoever is responsible will be writing lines in _pencil_ after class!”

“Harry,” Ron said, now sitting in Hermione’s abandoned seat, “Why has the subject of you smelling come up a lot lately?”

Harry was surprised he hadn’t noticed Malfoy come to sit with Nott at the desk in front of him. Malfoy turned around in his seat, leaving a very unamused Nott to practice by himself.

“Unoriginal, Finnigan is. I’ve known Potter stunk since fourth year.”

“What’re you, jealous, Malfoy?” Ron joked lightheartedly, opening his textbook.

Harry scoffed, before looking over to the blond, remembering his plans to mess with him. Eyes flicking up to his hair, he spoke, “Say, Malfoy? Have you done something different with your hair?”

Malfoy leant back as though he’d gotten slapped, hand coming up to pinch the lock that’d fallen over his forehead.

“I just mean, it looks nice. It’s almost wavy now.” Harry continued, as though it was the most reasonable thing to say at the moment, whilst fighting the shy warmth growing in his chest.

Malfoy made a noise of disgust. “Fuck off, Potter.” he bit, before turning back around.

“You’re mental.” Ron whispered, before grabbing his wand and casting on the jewelry box.

Harry’s attempt at a feather wasn’t entirely horrible, though it was more fluttered on the sides, such as a butterfly. His transfigure from a jewelry box to a delicate case was successful, though not as detailed and missing a clasp. The professor though, said that in a N.E.W.T.s assessment, he would have earned an “O”, and complimented him on his minimalism and crisp imagery, whatever that meant.

Harry couldn’t help but overhear the professor’s opinions on Malfoy’s “astonishing” delicate case, and notice how he straightened his back at the compliment. Harry found himself then, staring at Malfoy’s back, and the way his shoulder blades moved under his shirt. And his hair, curling at the nape of his neck and behind his ears, no longer slicked back but now falling rather primly, still short.

Ron elbowed him. “She said my signature looked like a bulbous foot. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That it looks like you.” Harry teased.

“Hey, Potter.” Malfoy had turned around once more, and Harry almost gave him mental props for his determination. It seemed more interactions between the two happened the more Harry was polite to him. “Here you go, to hide those hideous glasses of yours.”

Slender fingers placed Malfoy’s delicate case on his desk. Nott hid his face in his hands, seemingly in disbelief at his friend’s actions. Harry cautiously picked up the case, trying to mask his suspicion, and turned it over in his hands. He felt something shift inside of it. He put a smile on his face, ignoring the curiosity sparked in his chest, and looked up at Malfoy. “This is really well done, thank you.”

The blond looked at him dimly, before scoffing and turning in his seat to face the front of the class once more. Nott leaned in close to whisper something to Malfoy, but Harry didn’t catch it. He looked over to Ron, who sat stunned, with brows raised, but was then distracted by Dean to his left, showing him his signature, that was apparently so inappropriate Seamus was blushing.

Harry looked down at the case in his hands, the class still working around him. It was smaller than his own, with more detail and intricate designs. He flipped it over, searching for a signature. He didn’t find one. He looked around him, making sure no one was paying attention— Ron was still laughing with Dean— before opening it.

His chest tightened at the contents. Inside was a “Potter Stinks” badge, identical to those handed out in the fourth year, and a small piece of parchment. He unfolded the note, thinking Nott must not have known about this added favor.

It neat script, it read, “Don’t forget.”

 _Don’t forget what?_ Harry thought, puzzled. He gently replaced the parchment inside, or was about to, before he saw it. A signature. A beautifully carved one, hidden inside the box.

*

At the end of class, Ron choked. “Where did you get that?”

Harry looked down at his blazer, smirking.

“Hey babe! Look what Harry’s wearing!” Dean shouted to Seamus next to him, eyes crinkling in delight. The Irish boy hunched over in laughter.

The professor then came over, drawing attention from the other students. Harry cringed, knowing this time he’d definitely take a little heat.

“Very funny!” she said. “I promise you, you eighth years are the most troublesome, piss taking lot I have. Now out! Class dismissed!” she commanded, adding a smile at the end.

Malfoy had gathered his things and turned around, furrowing his brows as he looked at Harry wearing the badge. He tightened his grip on his bag strap and stormed past the exiting students, leaving his friends.

Harry quickly grabbed his things, placing Malfoy’s case carefully in his bag, before he left the class, leaving behind a very confused Ron and Hermione.

The halls were filling quickly, students making their ways to their next class or free period, but Harry saw ash blond hair turn down the bathroom corridor. He followed, shoving past talking friends and ignoring the greeting calls of his name.

When he reached the hall, quite empty it was, someone grabbed his arm and yanked him into the bathroom before he was pushed back against a wall. Grey eyes met his, piercing and sharp with anger. Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

“Take. It. Off.” Malfoy bit out, gripping the collar of his blazer, whitening his knuckles.

Harry stuttered, his eyes flicking between Malfoy’s, heart fluttering at the statement. “Wha— take what off?”

“The badge, Potter. Take it off.” Malfoy’s voice dripped with as much threat as his eyes.

Harry felt himself get warmer, the contrast of the hard stone behind him and Malfoy’s body in front of his fogging his mind. He struggled to speak. “Why would you give it to me if you didn’t want me to wear it?”

Malfoy pressed Harry harder into the wall, getting closer. “Never mind that. Don’t you have any— just take it off!”

Harry swallowed, clenching his fists at his sides. “Have any what?”

Malfoy clenched his jaw before speaking, eyes leaving Harry’s briefly. “Any care for self image?” He looked at him again, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Well… wait. That’s not likely.”

Harry’s eyes looked down at Malfoy’s small smile. “No.” Their breath mixed between them. “No, I don’t care what people think.”

It was almost a whisper, words with another meaning, and Malfoy’s gaze quickly dropped to Harry’s mouth, then lower, to their bodies. He dropped his arms and backed away steadily, collecting himself. After a few seconds, he said, “Well it’s apparent not! After this morning, and now.”

Harry straightened his glasses. “Is it so bad to wish you a good morning?”

“Yes.” Malfoy sneered.

Harry ran a hand through his ruffled hair before fixing his tie. “And why is that?”

Malfoy faced him. Harry easily backed up into the wall once more.

“I gave you the badge,” Malfoy began, getting in his face again, “because I made it. Because I’m _Malfoy_ and you’re _Potter._ ”

Harry held his breath as Malfoy raised his hand to his blazer once more, before swiftly removing the pin. The proximity had Harry’s heart beating so loud he swore it was audible.

“ _Don’t forget that_.” Malfoy said, pressing the badge into Harry’s chest until he came to his senses and raised his hand to take it. Their fingers brushed, too quickly to make note of the feeling, and then Malfoy was gone, the bathroom still besides the door swinging shut behind him.

Harry looked over to the mirror, as if to see if he was really there, as if to confirm what just happened, just happened. His heart was still pounding, his cheeks turning pink, and his hand still clutching the badge to his chest. He looked down at it, the writing was gone.

The mirror also showed something that made Harry almost choke: a slight tent to his trousers. He didn’t allow himself to think too much about it, filing it as growing frustration and heavy feelings.

*

It wasn’t frustration and heavy feelings. Harry awoke that night, panting heavy and damp with sweat. He listened through the curtains to hear if anyone was awake, but only heard the faint buzz of Seamus and Dean’s _Muffliato._

His dream lingered in his mind as he sat up, chest sheen and mouth parted as he caught his breath. His cock was hard against his pants, his hair messy over his eyes.

Harry had dreamt about Malfoy, and his stomach was unsettled in disbelief. He’d dreamt of him before of course, but not like this. Harry’s head hit the pillow as he combed the hair from his face. Malfoy was still behind his eyelids, pale skin now hot, pink, and golden from the dreamy light, moving above Harry. His neck exposed as his head hung back, moaning as he rocked and rocked on top of him.

Harry’s breath caught up with him and he sighed, trying to force the dream from his mind, and the blood from his prick. Malfoy was handsome, there was no denying that, especially after this dream. And Harry was eighteen, and not stupid, he had a brain, and a cock as well. Anyone could see Malfoy was gorgeous, from the way he held himself, the way he dressed, his nice hair, skin, teeth— when he’s smirking at a joke he’d made— he was also a proper flyer, a _proper wizard_ …

Harry cut his thoughts off. _“Because I’m Malfoy, and you’re Potter.”_

His heart warmed uncontrollably as the words rung in his mind. Malfoy didn’t see him as Harry Potter, Dark Lord Defeater. He saw him as Potter, apparently just some school rival, who didn’t dress that well, who wore glasses.

Harry frowned at finding that welcoming, but that it was. He wanted someone who didn’t glorify him, and Merlin did he find them. Malfoy didn’t care about what Harry’d done. He’d still sneer at him, insult him, push him against walls…

Harry’s cock jumped in his trousers as he suppressed a groan, wondering why he’d gotten himself into such a mess.

*

“You can’t take him seriously.”

Friday morning had come, and Harry sat in a windowsill with Parkinson and Hermione. Harry was incredibly thankful for the fact that it was Friday, with one more day until a trip to Hogsmeade, flying, and studying in peace. At breakfast, Malfoy had walked over to the Gryffindor table, insulted Harry’s hair as though a part of his routine, and left before Harry could compliment his, well, Harry didn’t give himself the chance.

Upon seeing Malfoy, Harry got suddenly nervous, and his brain had stopped working. It had been a while since he had a dream about anyone in particular, a dream like _that,_ anyway, and seeing that person just felt entirely overwhelming. Especially because it was Malfoy.

“Harry?” Hermione gently called from her spot on the ground. She sat legs crossed, book open on her lap. Harry looked to her. “Pansy was talking to you.”

Harry looked up to the black-haired girl sitting across from him. He raised a brow.

“I said, you can’t take him seriously.”

Harry kept the brow raised.

“Draco.” Parkinson explained. _Oh,_ Harry thought. _Draco._

“Maybe years ago, before everything, yeah.” she went on, “But now he’s just doing it because it’s familiar. I know him… I see no spite behind his actions.”

Harry faltered. “Oh, I wasn’t—“

“Yes, you were.” Hermione cut in, “Since what happened at breakfast you’ve looked like a robbed niffler. What’s going on?”

Parkinson leaned closer and Hermione looked around the hall, which was quite empty, before urging Harry to speak. He stayed quiet, looking down at his lap.

“No fucking way.” Parkinson enunciated.

“Oh, Harry…” Hermione looked down and closed her book.

“What?” Harry defended, “I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re my best friend, Harry.” Hermione stood and scooted in next to him. “You didn’t have to.”

Two girls walked past, waving to Harry shyly. He forced a smile back.

“Spill, Potter.” Parkinson prodded.

Harry sighed and tipped his head back against the wall. “He just… is so…” He closed his eyes, “It was just for fun, I liked messing with him. I didn’t know it would turn into this, it’s been one bloody day and I’m already dreaming about him!”

Hermione gasped. Parkinson squealed. Harry went on.

“It’s as though now I don’t want to mess with him… Like, the things I was joking about before have become the truth.”

“Harry,” Hermione carefully began, “things are different now. The war is over… we’re all safe, and alive. Do what makes you happy, you deserve it.”

Anxiety left Harry’s chest, quickly replaced by warmth. He looked over to Hermione, who wrapped an arm around him, her hair getting in his face. Harry spat some away from his mouth, “Hair, ‘Mione.”

“Isn’t it lovely?” Parkinson mused, “My little squirrel!”

Hermione shot up and gasped. “Squirrel?”

“You think I don’t remember your cute buck teeth?” Parkinson laughed.

“Bye, Harry!” Hermione grabbed her book and bag, blushing and ignoring her girlfriend.

Harry chuckled as he watched his friend leave down the hall.

Parkinson sighed from next to him. “I really didn’t want to get up.” she pouted.

Harry shrugged. She grabbed her bag. “You can’t take him seriously, Potter.” she said, and ruffled his hair before walking after Hermione.

*

“I’m sure most of you could obliterate this classroom with a single _’Reducto_ ’,” the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor began, “but a quality _Protego_ is the more valuable spell.”

“I’d like to play him in chess.” Ron whispered to Harry, who smirked and crossed his arms.

“As we continue to get to know each other, though I have no doubt of your abilities, I’d like to assess your capabilities for your future success on your N.E.W.T.s. Your assignment today is to take turns practicing protection spells of the corporeal kind, where unlike the projected, they cast a bubble-like shield around you.” He walked around the class, between the students. “Now, the physical form often bounces back spells to their castor, so _do not cast_ what you don’t want to be _cursed_ with.” The professor came to a stop at the front of the room. “I’ve assigned partners,” he paused for the predicable groans, “by last name.”

Harry watched as Granger was partnered with Greengrass, Finnigan with Finch-Fletchley, and Malfoy with Macmillan.

“Now Patil and Patil, you’ll be partnered together. Parkinson and Potter, a pair…” the professor went on, speaking through his mustache.

Parkinson hopped over to Harry, hooking their arms together as they reached a mat to practice on. Harry found quite unsurprisingly that Defense with his year was his favorite class, and the new professor, ex-auror and known philanthropist, was quite respectable.

Harry looked over to Malfoy to catch him shrugging off his jacket, something he couldn’t tear his eyes away from, and folding up his sleeves. Harry gulped.

“Potter!” Parkinson lightly smacked his cheek repeatedly. “Stop it! Focus!”

Harry breathed a laugh as she whispered “ridiculous” to herself, and walked over to her side of the mat. Spells were already lighting up the classroom colorfully, and Harry saw Hermione warped behind a shield as Greengrass cast a hesitant _Confundus_ at her _._

Parkinson snapped her fingers at him.

“Sorry—“ he began, but Parkinson had already bowed and taken her stance, casting a stinging jinx at his side, soft though it was.

“Oi!” Harry said, gripping his waist.

Parkinson shrugged, “Should’ve paid attention to Pansy.”

Harry took his stance, and _Pansy_ retook hers.

They both managed solid defenses, Pansy casting hers after flaming Harry left and right with spells. The class was filled with laugher, shouts, and instructions. At one point, the professor came over to correct Pansy’s stance after complimenting Harry’s, which earned a clenched jaw.

While the attention was on his partner, Harry looked about the room, walking around the pairs of students and towards Ron and Zabini, who were next to Malfoy and Macmillan. Apparently it was Malfoy’s turn to strike, and as Harry was walking behind the Slytherin, a particularly fast charm bounced off Macmillan’s shield and hit Harry in the shoulder.

Panic flooded through him as a ripping noise filled Harry’s right ear, and Malfoy turned quickly in horror. Harry looked down at his shoulder, relieved to see the spell did nothing but tear his sleeve.

Malfoy was frozen on the spot, carefully looking for reassurance as his gaze flicked between Harry’s arm and face.

“It’s fine.” Harry said quickly. _“Reparo.”_ he spoke, and a satisfying stitch closed the seam. Ron and Zabini had stopped casting at one another and focused their attention, the former looking particularly concerned.

Malfoy stepped back, and Harry looked around. Only the Patils, to the right of them, had noticed the small moment, everyone else was still in defense mode. The professor had moved on to Neville and Hopkins.

“Blimey, Harry! I’m so sorry!” Macmillan cried. Harry smiled quickly at him before turning his attention back to Malfoy, who was looking at his wand.

“How did you do that?” Harry asked, enchanted by what’d happened.

Malfoy looked up at him, brows furrowed in uncertainty, before speaking quietly. “ _Diffindo,_ not as powerful.”

Harry’s brows shot up. “You can control it that well?” He smiled, finding it genuine. He noticed Malfoy was always good at control, wether it was casting, his broom, or himself. “Impressive.”

Malfoy scrunched his face. “Screw off, Potter.” He spat, before turning to face Macmillan and shooting a wordless _Flipendo_ at his chest. The boy flew backwards and landed on the mat. “Pay attention, Macmillan.”

Zabini chuckled, and Ron looked over to Harry as though everyone in the room had just sprouted fungus.

*

Harry’s back hit the stone wall once more.

“Listen Potter, I don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re up to, but you better cease it immediately.”

Harry almost laughed. _Cease it?_

Malfoy’s grip on his collar tightened as he breathed heavily through his nose. Harry was reminded of their current situation: down an empty corridor this time, as they were on the way to Potions, after lunch, when Harry’d smiled at Malfoy across the hall.

Arms at his side, careful not to fight back, Harry spoke, “I’m not up to anything, Malfoy.”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy complained as he shoved himself off, rubbing his temples. Harry smirked, catching his attention. “Oh yeah, this is all very funny, Potter.”

“It’s is,” Harry smiled, “I’ve done nothing but be kind to you.”

Malfoy dropped his hands and faced Harry with a look of exasperation. “That’s not— we don’t—“

It was the first time Harry’d seen Malfoy so flustered, and he was quite enjoying it.

“We can.” Harry spoke.

Malfoy approached him once more, shoving him back. Harry smiled, “Enjoy pushing me against walls, do you Malfoy?”

The change in expression was incredibly sudden, what was once cold as ice was faltering into describable embarrassment.

Harry couldn’t believe the words he’d just said. When Malfoy had grabbed his wrist and pulled him aside into the alcove, sparks flew up his chest in excitement. Visions of his dream flashed at the back of his mind as he breathed heavy against Malfoy.

Their knees were intwined as Malfoy’s brow softened, his grip on Harry’s shirt loosening. He stepped back, thankfully, before any more of Harry’s blood had flown south.

“Don’t.” Malfoy said, simply. Unknowingly to Harry, something struck his heart. “Don’t.”

Malfoy looked up then, meeting Harry’s eyes. Harry saw a brief flash of something he couldn’t pinpoint, something he’d never seen on Malfoy’s face before, before he picked his bag up and left him alone once more.

Thankfully, Potions was more hands-on this Friday, so it went relatively fast. Malfoy sat at the back, surrounded by his friends, and Harry barely had a moment to glance at him as Slughorn hovered near his table, discussing his latest work and meetings with Harry.

He didn’t even let the praise bother him.

Ron and Ginny acknowledged at dinner that Harry was being quiet. He didn’t even bother to look across the hall, but managed to enjoy the end-of-the-week feast with his house as Seamus and Dean joked and Ron spat food and Hermione smiled softly to him from across the table.

Lying in bed, Harry thought of Malfoy, and decided his “joking”— or being honest, now— had gone on long enough, and that he’d quit messing with him.

*

Saturday morning brought crisp cold and an overcast sky illuminated gently by the sun. The grounds were covered in morning dew, and Ron and Harry walked across the crunchy grass to the Quidditch pitch, gear on with brooms in hand.

Harry’s thoughts were clouded with Malfoy, and the expression he had on his face the previous day. He didn’t like to see Malfoy looking that way— a mixture of hurt, confusion and annoyance—, and didn’t want to cause that in him anymore. He wanted to be the reason he had that annoying smirk on his face, or the reason he throws his head back in laugher the way Harry’d only rarely see him do.

After Harry’s decision to leave Malfoy alone last night, he felt a twinge of sadness. Yes, Malfoy had insulted him, but the comments Harry’d made, about the way Malfoy dressed, wishing him a good morning, complimenting his magic— it was easy for him to do. It felt natural, genuine, _real,_ and he wanted to do it more.

“You’re quiet. Tired?” Ron pondered from next to him.

Harry threw the subject off himself immediately. “You’re quiet too.” He found he wasn’t ready to discuss Malfoy with Ron yet. “What ever happened with you and Megan?”

Ron smiled small, scratching his stubble. “She didn’t exactly want to take it anywhere, and quite honestly, neither did I. She was great but, I dunno mate.” He paused, biting his lip. “Didn’t feel real.”

“Real?” Harry questioned.

“Yeah, like easy, natural, like I could be myself.”

 _Oh,_ Harry thought. “I get it mate. Sorry.” He spoke quietly as they made their way closer to the pitch. Harry definitely meant what he’d said to Malfoy, he didn’t care what other people thought. They could take him for what he was, Harry, as his friends did. Give him praise, such as those who didn’t understand or know him. Or swat him away like a cat does with something it dislikes, such as Malfoy.

Footsteps in the grass ahead of him caught his attention, and Harry’s pulse quickened. Malfoy and Zabini were leaving the pitch, Malfoy with red cheeks and hair against his forehead as he always looked after flying. His gear was well fitted and green and brown, and for a second he looked like a professional player, the way he held his broom and walked confidently. Harry licked his lips.

“Nice gear, Potter.” Malfoy said sarcastically as he walked by, Zabini nodding to Ron. Harry almost thanked him, but forced his gaze away.

His gear was old, yeah, but he liked it that way. He’d played his best games in this gear, and it still bloody worked after all.

_“You can’t take him seriously.”_

_He’s just trying to keep up appearances,_ Harry told himself. _He doesn’t actually care about your gear._

Harry and Ron kept walking until they were at the center of the field. His friend straddled his broom, but before he kicked off, got Harry’s attention.

“Mate, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Harry took a while before responding, tightening his guards. “Yeah, and I will, just want to fly right now.”

“Okay,” Ron smiled, “race you around the pitch.”

Harry looked at Ron’s new broom, the first thing he had bought for himself after the war, and grinned. “You’re on.”

*

The Hogsmeade streets were enlightened with hanging lights and the yellow shine from inside the windows. The paths were filled with eighth years, along with those enjoying the last of the nice weather. Honeydukes had supplied Harry and his friends with various treats as they walked down the cobblestone towards The Three Broomsticks.

Harry had his arm around Padma as they broke apart some candy floss, debating over which pet was superior.

“Can. they. fly.” Harry repeated, enunciating each syllable.

Padma laughed, “You can’t cuddle an owl, Harry.”

Harry’s head jerked back as though he was insulted. “Are you willing to bet on that?”

The girl giggled, extending her tongue to set some floss on it before calling her sister and Susan Bones into the conversation. Both girls, after stealing some candy, agreed with Padma on cats being the superior pet.

Harry scoffed, “It’s rigged! She’s your sister!” He then blushed at his volume, apparently a bit too excited from all the sweets.

“And what about me?” Susan laughed.

Harry pursed his lips and waved her off, removing his arm from Padma and catching up with his roommates, who were having a debate of their own.

“Mine is bigger!” Seamus yelled at Ron, cheeks red from the cold.

Ron blew air from his lips. “Oh please, ours are all the same size.”

“No no,” Dean nodded, “his is loads bigger.”

Harry furrowed his brows. “What?”

The three laughed at his arrival. Ron explained, “They’re saying Seamus’ bed is bigger than ours.”

“Trust me, it is!” Dean hit Harry’s shoulder enthusiastically. “I’m the only one here that’s done the comparing!”

“Well, when you want to have a sleepover, let us know.” Harry grinned, holding the pub door open for his friends.

The tavern was not full, and the arrival of Harry and his friends instantly brought life to it. The lanterns flickered shadows over the wood, creating a calm atmosphere.

“Oh piss off!” Rosmerta’s bartender called. “I’m not giving you lot anything other than butterbeer!”

Dean laughed in delight before turning to count his friends. “Well that’ll be… seven, eight, _nine_ butterbeers, please!”

Harry found himself in a booth between Hermione and Ron, sipping the frothy beverage and listening as Seamus told a joke about The Sorting Hat and a goblin. Harry felt truly content; his drink warming him from the inside out; the comfortable booth; the presence of his friends.

The bell over the door rung out, and Harry seemed to be the only one to look over as a group of Slytherins entered, Malfoy at the lead. Harry gripped his glass tighter, trying to refocus on the story.

“How’s that even possible?” Pansy barked, arm in its favorite spot around Hermione’s shoulders.

“You fuckin’ tell me, Parkinson! You can’t make this shit up!” Seamus spat through a grin, continuing his tale.

In the corner of his eye, Harry saw the Slytherins sit a few tables away after gathering their drinks. The night went on, Harry regaining comfortability and falling into conversation with his friends.

Through a faux seductive voice, Pansy said, “I think we should play a game.”

Susan and Parvati clapped in excitement.

“What game are you suggesting, Parkinson?” Ron smirked, resting his arm on the cushion behind Harry.

She looked around the group with a devilish smile. “Never Have I Ever.”

Dean whooped as he got up to get more drinks before something caught his attention. “Oi! Zabini! Malfoy! Come join us!”

Harry looked up as the Slytherins exchanged looks. “We don’t bite!” Dean continued, heading towards the bar.

“Watch this.” Pansy whispered before yelling, “Oh, don’t be a wimp, Draco!”

Grey eyes flashed from across the pub, before moments later, the Slytherins stood.

Harry laughed, looking at Pansy. She said, “He’s the most competitive fucker you’ll meet, I swear.”

Ron and Seamus helped them move a table closer, and soon they were a large group of students at the back of the tavern. Malfoy sat a few down and across from Harry, but Harry avoided looking his way as the conversations erupted. His friends sung and laughed and shared treats before everyone was resettled and ready to play.

“Alright! I shall begin. Drumroll.” Pansy requested.

Several of Harry’s friends and himself thrummed their fingers on the edge of the table.

“Never have I ever—“

“Wait,” Zabini spoke. “We don’t have alcohol.”

“Oh shut it Blaise, we’re just having fun.” she spat. “Never have I ever bragged about something I haven’t done.”

A few frowned at the easy start to the game. Harry watched as Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Parvati took sips of their drinks.

“Oh please! We’re being honest here!” Pansy aimed. Everyone then laughed as Zabini and Goyle then drank.

Harry leaned back in his seat. Hermione sighed.

“Alright alright, simple start.” Seamus approved. The game went on as the night got older. Harry found he wasn’t overthinking about Malfoy, though the Slytherins stayed reserved at their side of the tables, and he focused more on his friends. The questions then grew to be a bit riskier.

“I have one.” Ron chuckled. “Never have I ever kissed my best friend.”

Harry joked, “We can change that Ron, if you want.”

Everyone laughed, and Ron shoved his shoulder. Parvati, Seamus, and Dean drank, before Zabini and Malfoy shrugged to one another, seemingly loosening up, and drank as well. Everyone froze while Pansy laughed.

Dean leant back in shock. “No bloody way!”

Zabini chuckled, looking to Malfoy. “It was truly rememberable.”

And then Malfoy winked to him.

Harry felt as though he was dropped into another universe. His stomach lurched with what he was smart enough to label anger. Malfoy looked up from his hands holding his glass and to Harry while his friends laughed, urging them to explain.

“What we Slytherins get up to is none of your concern.” Zabini concluded.

“Damn right.” Pansy agreed.

Harry felt trapped in the booth between his friends. All of a sudden his palms were sweaty. He felt something flick his shoulder amiss the conversations: Pansy’s arm was around Hermione to his left, and he looked to her. She minutely shook her head, leaving Harry confused.

“Alright,” Zabini spoke. “Never have I ever screwed someone from Hogwarts.”

Ron exclaimed, “Seamus, Dean, you better finish your bloody bottles.”

The couple laughed. Hermione took a shy sip, earning a shoulder shove from Harry. Pansy then made a show of taking a drink, and Harry looked around the table. Susan, Padma, and Parvati didn’t drink. Seamus and Dean crossed their arms and chugged. Goyle and Bulstrode were quiet at they took a sip. And that was it. Harry’s eyes landed on Malfoy, who’s focus stayed glued to the table as he very clearly did not drink.

Harry’s cheek twitched.

The night went on, the laughs broke out, the tavern cleared. His friends had discovered incredibly shocking things about one another, including skinny dipping in The Great Lake, forbidden crushes, lap dances, friends with benefits, and magical moving photos that weren’t appropriate for school.

*

The night had brought a gust of wind up everyones jumpers as they walked back up to Hogwarts. The grounds were quiet apart from the students trying to make their curfew. Harry walked with Ron and Hermione at the front of the group. Pansy had left to go to talk with Malfoy at the back. Zabini had, interestingly enough, linked arms with Padma.

The warmth of the front doors had everyone rushing in and up the stairs. A group had decided to sneak down to the kitchens to get some food, but someone grabbed Harry’s elbow and pulled him aside before he could go.

Pansy discretely slipped something into Harry’s jacket as she stood close to him, making sure no one saw.

“What—“

“Stop. Pining.” She looked at him seriously, “You owe me.”

Harry looked around, but she grabbed his jaw and made him face her once again. “Dungeons. Nunquam Fiducia.”

Harry turned his head in question as she walked away to Hermione, who was saying goodnight to Ron. He looked around, but found an absence of Slytherins. Pansy and Hermione wished Harry goodnight, and he didn’t dare remove the item from his jacket as he followed his roommates to the kitchens.

The hustle and bustle of house elves so late at night was astonishing, and the excitement of the fun Saturday he was having didn’t allow Harry to be exhausted at all. After they’d gathered a few snacks, Harry found himself in a circle on the floor.

Seamus, Dean, and Ron were messing about, talking about Megan, school work, and the sad absence of Neville. Harry looked down to his jacket and pulled out the object as he chewed a croissant.

It was Malfoy’s hat.

“Harry, why do you have Malfoy’s hat?” Ron asked with full cheeks. Harry flinched and looked up, his heart thumping.

Seamus tapped Dean excitedly. “It’s happening,” he exclaimed, “it’s happening!”

Harry threw the hat into Ron’s lap in fear. “I don’t know! Pansy gave it to me!”

“Well bloody hell! I don’t want it!” Ron yelled, throwing it to Seamus.

“Fuck! Neither do I!” Seamus squeaked. “It likely has a pureblood curse!” He threw it to Dean’s lap.

Dean chuckled, tossing it to Harry. “There’s no curse.” He looked to Harry seriously, quieting the other two, “Mate, you have to take it to him.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “What— no! What?”

Seamus laughed excitedly between bites. “ _Oh,_ you _do_! That’s why she gave it to you!”

“Why would she do that?” Ron and Harry asked at the same time.

“For you to take it to him!” The couple responded.

Dean went on after a moment. “Look, Harry, we all saw the way you looked at him tonight.”

“We did?” Ron asked.

“Take it to him. Be the stupid Gryffindor that you are. The worst he can do is accuse you of thievery and jinx you to pieces.”

Harry’s heart fluttered. This was all happening too fast. Malfoy was right, Pansy was a traitor after all. He stood, picking up the hat.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Ron laughed nervously.

“I feel the same way.” Harry said, before turning on his heel and exiting through the frame.

*

It was colder in the dungeons, the light blue from the windows of the corridors reflecting the lake. The castle was quiet this late at night, and Harry's shoes echoed as he tapped down the halls.

“Nunquam Fiducia.” he whispered at random cobble stones.

Harry sighed. After turning down yet another alcove, he’d still failed to find the entrance to the eighth year dorm.

Thoughts flooded his mind. He could just give Malfoy his hat back tomorrow. What if his friends were there? And awake? What if Malfoy told him to fuck off? It was very likely, yet excitement and mystery pumped through Harry’s veins, something he hadn’t felt for a while, and he decided on chasing it.

A portrait at the end of one hall then caught Harry’s eye, one with a snake in a figure eight surrounding a stack of books. Harry almost scoffed in disbelief as he approached it.

“Nunquam Fiducia” he whispered.

The portrait clicked as it unlocked and swung open, and Harry stepped inside. Instantly he noticed a difference to his living quarters and the eighth year Slytherins, but stopped in place when he saw Nott, reading in an arm chair with his legs over the side. The fireplace was flickering.

Nott looked up and instantly rolled his eyes. “End of the hall.” he mumbled, looking back to his book.

Harry only nodded, not at all embarrassed, but annoyed at the fact that Slytherins got separate rooms.

Green, silver, and black were everywhere. The portraits scowled as Harry walked past, old witches and wizards, proving that Slytherins were superior, with their larger dorms and fancy furniture.

Exiting the sitting room, a hallway formed left and right. Harry went left, and squinted through the darkness as he walked to the end of the hall. He knocked on the door to the right before he could think twice about it.

It was quiet at first, but then Harry heard Zabini’s voice along with the chuckle of a girl. “Fuck off, Theo! I’m busy!”

Harry stepped back, smiling to himself. He turned around, finding another door. His heart was racing.

He took a breath, and knocked.

It was quiet as well, but then Harry heard rustling, and then the door opened.

Malfoy was in a white shirt. Harry looked up to meet his eyes, which quickly scrunched up in near-repulsion. “Um, hi—“ Harry began, but Malfoy peaked out, looking down the hall, before grabbing Harry’s wrist and quickly pulling him inside his room, shutting the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Malfoy whispered, drawing his wand. Harry backed against the door.

“Er— I—“ Harry suddenly couldn’t think. The only thing that mattered was that he was in Malfoy’s room. With Malfoy. Alone. And Malfoy had his wand drawn, and began waving it.

“Stop stuttering and speak, Potter. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What— what are you doing?” Harry asked, vaguely gesturing to Malfoy’s wand movements.

“Casting silencing charms, what the hell do you think?” Malfoy spat. “I don’t want people to hear your horrid voice in my room late at night!”

Harry’s heart speed up. He stepped away from the door slightly. Malfoy turned to face him.

“I… here.” Harry said, pulling out the hat.

Malfoy stared at it for a moment before growling. Harry’s brain got caught on the noise. “That fucking traitor.” Malfoy mumbled, before snatching it and walking over to his desk. He sat it down. Harry watched the movements.

Malfoy went on, “You couldn’t give it back tomorrow?”

“I wanted to tonight.” Harry said after a moment.

“Of course you did.” Malfoy turned around, brows pulled together. “Didn’t you get my note, Potter?”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

Malfoy took another step forward. “This isn’t right—“ he gestured. “You being kind, you _complimenting_ me, you _returning_ my things.”

“Well why not?”

“Because,” Malfoy gritted out, clenching his jaw. “Because I’m _Malfoy_ , and you’re _Potter.”_

Harry took a small step forward, Malfoy took a step back. “Yeah, you keep saying that, so—“

“So don’t forget it!” Malfoy bit. “Don’t forget what I’ve _done._ Don’t forget the complete prat that I was.”

Now Harry took a step back, the words hitting his chest hard. He shook his head minutely as he spoke, “Malfoy—“

“I don’t _deserve_ your kindness, Potter.” Malfoy spoke quietly. “I don’t deserve it.”

Harry’s heart dropped. His arms felt heavy at his sides while he looked at Malfoy as the boy looked to the floor, gritting his teeth.

“You’re right,” Harry began, a burst of courage flowing through him. Malfoy’s eyes snapped up to his. “You’re right,” he said again, stepping closer. “You’re _Malfoy,_ and I’m _Potter_. I dress disastrous, I own old Quidditch gear, I need glasses, I stutter. And you see that, you don’t see me as some _savior,_ you make fun of the fucking title!” Harry breathed a laugh, taking another step closer. “And you’re _Malfoy_ , who’s done fucked up things, yeah, but we were at _war._ You’re _Malfoy_ and you’re _human._ You,” Harry took a breath, trying to speak as the grey eyes pierced his, “You’re a complete arse, yes, but you also dress well, you know how to hold conversations, craft a stupidly intricate box, cast a _Diffindo_ so perfectly it doesn’t rip my arm off, and you can fly, you can fly extremely well—“

“Stop.” Malfoy said suddenly. All anger had slipped off his face, and his lips were parted slightly. “Stop, or I won’t be held responsible for what I do.”

Harry looked down at where Malfoy gripped his wand tightly, though something told him he wouldn’t use it. “Do it.” Harry said, almost a whisper. “Do—“

Malfoy stepped forward, erasing the final space between them. His eyes flicked between Harry’s, and his breath caught in his throat when their gaze slipped down to his lips.

Malfoy’s lips then met his in a crash, and Harry’s eyes fell shut. Warm hands immediately grabbed his jaw and Harry moaned at the contact, at the softness of Malfoy’s mouth, the speed of their lips working together.

Harry’s hands came up to Malfoy’s back, grabbing at his shoulder blades. It was everything Harry didn’t know he wanted, a physical form of a dream.

Malfoy made a small noise as Harry’s hands trailed down to the bottom of his shirt, sliding over the patch of warm skin there. “Potter,” he breathed against his lips.

Harry flipped them so Malfoy’s back hit the wall. Their foreheads pressed together as they caught their breaths, Harry’s hands now completely under Malfoy’s shirt, gripping his waist. “Malfoy,” he responded, before kissing him again.

The kiss was just as heated as the first, passionate and messy and an argument of lips. Malfoy turned his jaw and licked across Harry’s upper lip, and their tongues met in the middle, twirling around each other. Harry reveled at the catch in Malfoy’s breath as he squeezed his waist, how soft the skin was there, how easily his hands wrapped around it. Malfoy pulled back then and raised his arms, making Harry’s heart jump as well as his cock.

The shirt was easy to pull over his head, messing Malfoy’s hair, though Harry didn’t have time to appreciate the look before lips were once again on his. Instead, Harry’s hands came up to twine in it, and he inhaled sharply feeling how silky it was.

“Potter.” Malfoy said once again, kissing his lips once more before moving to his chin.

“Yeah?” Harry asked roughly, wanting to not think and only feel the mouth trailing to his jaw.

“Jacket.” Malfoy said, and Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He shrugged off his sleeves and his jacket fell to the floor in a lump, before Malfoy’s lips were on his jaw once more. Harry shoved him back against the wall, lifting his own hoodie and shirt off in one go.

Malfoy’s eyes trailed over his face. “Your hair’s a fucking mess.” he breathed, before kissing Harry’s neck. Harry tipped his head to the side, exposing it more while in awe at what was happening. His head felt foggy, and he worried he might wake up soon.

“Shut up,” Harry exhaled with a smile, locking Malfoy against the wall with his arms and kissing him once more. Their knees intwined and crotches gently met, though no boy dared to move them.

Harry’s hands fell to Malfoy’s hips as his tongue lapped into his parted mouth, pulling heavy breaths and small noises out of him that Harry’d treasure forever.

Malfoy moved his hips forward slightly, almost in question, causing Harry to tighten his grip and press his hips flush against the blond’s. They both groaned as their cocks got pressure against one another, and they rocked slightly as they panted into each other’s mouths.

Malfoy’s hands fell to Harry’s hips then, and Harry thought that it was for more pressure, but the slender fingers then met his belt.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, confirming if that was truly what Malfoy wanted.

Malfoy’s eyes were hooded and full of desire, and Harry took in his candle lit face, with pink cheeks and wet lips. “Yeah,” Malfoy whispered into the air between them, nodding.

Harry doesn’t know how he did what he did next, but he knelt slightly before grabbing Malfoy’s thighs and lifting him against the wall. Malfoy moaned into Harry’s mouth as he was pressed back, as Harry moved to his neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh under his jaw.

“How does it feel to be pressed against a wall?” Harry smirked into Malfoy’s skin, hands dropping to grasp his arse.

Malfoy’s hands that were entwined in Harry’s hair pulled it. “Shut up.” he laughed.

Harry turned and walked towards the bed, only bumping one chair, before he dropped Malfoy down on the mattress.

He drank in Malfoy’s appearance: the ruffled hair, the smug smirk, and the daring eyes as he sat up on his elbows and gazed to Harry.

Harry unbuckled his belt, hands only shaking slightly, before he unzipped and dropped his jeans. Malfoy’s eyes fell down to his crotch, and to take the attention off himself, Harry’s hands found the tie of Malfoy’s bottoms.

“Eager, are we?” Malfoy teased.

Harry pulled down the black pajamas. “A bit, yeah.” he said, climbing on top of Malfoy and kissing his stunned face.

They backed up to the top of the bed, Harry lying between Malfoy’s legs as he built up the rhythm he rocked into Malfoy’s hips. The blond moaned as their cocks aligned perfectly, and Harry dipped his head into the crook of Malfoy’s neck, smelling his cologne, his hair, his overall captivating scent.

“You feel incredible.” Harry breathed as he moved.

“The compliments, Potter, please—“

Harry brought his face to Malfoy’s and rested their foreheads together. “You feel incredible.” he said again, looking into Malfoy’s eyes. The blond’s mouth fell open on a moan as they ground together.

Harry kissed his lips, and then his chin, his jaw, and moved down to his chest, kissing silent apologies into the scars, promising himself they’d talk about it another day. His mouth then moved to one of Malfoy’s nipples, licking and sucking it into his mouth.

Malfoy arched up into Harry’s lips. “Please.”

Harry never thought he’d hear those words.

He kissed down Malfoy’s soft torso, one arm wrapped underneath his back and holding him close to his lips, his other hand stroking comfortingly against his thigh, inching upwards.

“Please.” Malfoy repeated.

“Please?” Harry whispered, moving to the other nipple.

“Touch me,” Malfoy spoke into the air, hot and heavy between them. Harry smiled and moved his hand up to cup Malfoy over his underwear.

The boy moaned softly, bucking up into Harry’s grasp. Harry sat back and pulled down his boxers, Malfoy’s rosy hard cock slapping against his belly.

Harry wrapped his hand around it, the skin soft and sending shocks through them both as Malfoy arched. Harry kissed his lower stomach as he slowly stroked, feeling a drip of precome fall against his fingertips. Harry kissed lower, closer to his moving hand and the hair growing on Malfoy’s lower stomach. He sucked a bruise into Malfoy’s hip, before breathing heavy on the head of his cock.

“Yes,” Malfoy silently pleaded, hands coming to Harry’s hair once more.

Harry did a slow lick around the head, lapping up the precome, savoring in the taste. Malfoy gasped, and Harry sucked the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the top.

“Fuck,” Malfoy groaned, briefly looking down before throwing his head back as Harry took more of him in his mouth. Harry’s hand moved behind his lips as he slowly worked his way down Malfoy’s cock, taking as much as he could.

When Malfoy was wet enough, Harry pumped his hand and kissed the head, before sucking him down again and forming a pace, his hand moving after his mouth. Harry’s own cock leaked against the sheets as he ground against them, in pleasure at seeing Malfoy so lost, at hearing his noises, his pleads. At being the one to make Malfoy’s back buck upwards or thighs clench closer together.

Malfoy writhed under him, gasping and varying between saying “oh” and “yes” and “fuck”.

Harry rose off as he felt Malfoy’s cock twitch. “Do you have any…”

Malfoy sat up, his brows stitched together in pleasure as Harry’s hand kept moving. He stared at Harry’s face, in what looked like pleasureful disbelief, before remembering a question was asked. “Yeah,” he said, reaching for his bedside table.

A bottle of lube was dropped at Harry’s side as Malfoy lay back down. Harry licked from base to tip in distraction as he coated a finger, stroking his inner thigh and working closer and closer, pushing Malfoy’s thighs apart gently.

When he finally touched his hole, Malfoy let out a heavy breath, so Harry continued working his shaft with his other hand and sucking the tip. He added slight pressure to his finger before he breached the rim, and Malfoy’s hiss turned into a moan as Harry pumped his cock harder.

He slowly worked his finger in and out, in awe at the tight warmth of Malfoy, and soon he didn’t have to distract him with his cock.

“Harry,” Malfoy whimpered from above him, and extended his hand for Harry to intwine his fingers with. Harry tried not to falter at the sound of his name. Little noises escaped Malfoy as Harry worked his knuckle in, moving slowly and curling his finger slightly as he fucked him. He kissed up his body once more, meeting Malfoy’s neck and sucking on the skin under his ear, making Malfoy shake.

“You’re okay,” Harry whispered, completely fucking Malfoy with his finger now. The other boy gasped at the words. Harry kissed his jaw and cheek until their lips were connected again, Malfoy kissing with such abandonment Harry almost came from it.

“Two, two, please.” Malfoy pleaded, spreading his legs further. Harry complied, coating a second finger and slowly pushing it in along with the first. Malfoy scratched at his back, breathing deep and relaxing as Harry slowly pumped his fingers into him, and Harry watched in awe as his mouth hung open in pleasure.

Malfoy gasped when Harry hit a certain spot in him, his cock leaking against his stomach. “Fuck,” he breathed, as Harry curiously curled against it again. “Harry…”

“Yes, _Draco_?” Harry smiled, feeling his own pleasure building at the sound of Draco’s name on his raspy voice. Harry kissed Draco’s collarbone, and shoulder.

“More,” Draco requested.

Harry scissored his fingers, stretching Draco further until the boy was panting.

“More,” he pleaded once more. “Fuck me,” Draco said, and _fuck,_ Harry’s cock twitched at that. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, nibbling along Draco’s jaw, working his fingers in and out of his tight rim.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Draco nodded, biting his lip.

Harry removed his fingers, heart skipping at the whine Draco let out. He pulled down his boxers, his cock springing free.

Draco rose to his elbows, “Fuck, Potter.” he said, taking in the view.

“Oh so I’m only ‘Harry’ when I’m fucking you, yeah?” he teased, wrapping Draco’s legs around his waist.

Draco shifted a pillow under his hips. “Guess you better hurry up.”

Harry hummed, spreading lube over his cock, watching as Draco stroked himself. He lifted Draco’s knees and exposed his pink hole before pressing his head against it.

Draco whined and Harry leaned down and kissed him. They looked into each others eyes then as Harry pushed in slowly, his cock stretching Draco further. Draco bit his lip as Harry groaned at the warmth, the slickness, the tightness, moving forward the slightest bit before stopping and letting Draco adjust.

“Fuck,” they said together, and Harry kissed Draco’s cheek softly as he pushed in further. He wrapped a hand between them around Draco’s cock, stroking him as he went deeper.

When he was fully in Harry groaned deeply, “Shit Draco...”

Draco nodded, and kissed Harry’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his back.

Harry pulled back and met his gaze. “Are you okay?”

Draco’s eyes were almost black, looking between Harry’s as though trying to make out if he was real. Harry was overwhelmed with pleasure and disbelief, seeing Draco completely fucked-out beneath him, cheeks and chest red, legs around his waist.

Draco whispered, “I… I dreamt about you.”

Harry tried to make sense of the words as he tried not to move, letting Draco get used to his size. His hand still pumped Draco’s cock.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, breathlessly.

Draco nodded once more, before saying, “You can move, slowly.”

Harry dropped his head to Draco’s shoulder, and slowly pulled out before pushing in again. The feeling made them both gasp, Harry’s cock squeezed tightly by Draco’s hole.

They built up a rhythm, Harry began rocking a bit faster as Draco pulled his hair, encouraging him with several “yes”s and “more”s.

“You look so fucking good,” Harry confessed when he sat up to rock into Draco better. Draco arched his back at the compliment, squeezing Harry’s hand harder. “So fucking beautiful.”

The tightness around Harry’s cock was building pressure in his balls, giving him a heavy pleasure he’d not felt before, that made his vision blurry and knees weak.

Draco mewled, squeezing his eyes shut as his other hand worked at his cock. Harry shoved it away and replaced it with his own, pumping Draco along with the move of his hips.

“Harry, fuck, like that.” Draco cried. Harry shifted his hips, repositioning Draco higher, and Draco sucked in a deep breath. “Oh— fuck.” he gasped, “Right there.”

Harry fucked him faster, hitting Draco’s spot repeatedly. The noises he was making, the view of his toned body wrapped around him, it was all too much. Harry exhaled heavily, “Close.”

“Me too, me too.” Draco urged, clenching tighter around Harry. Harry fucked him once, twice, and then groaned as his orgasm hit him, tightening his balls.

“Fuck,” Draco panted, watching him in awe. Harry came hard, throwing his head back on a groan, pumping hot come into Draco as he fucked him, and Draco’s thighs tightened around his waist as he too came with white hot stripes over his chest. Watching Draco let go made Harry come harder, dropping to his elbows on top of the boy who instantly wrapped his arms around him as they rode out their orgasms together.

*

Harry breathed a laugh of disbelief into Draco’s shoulder, pulling out and rolling off of him. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

He settled on the mattress next to him, waving his hand and spelling them clean.

Draco scoffed and raised a brow, rolling onto his side and facing Harry. “Can’t you?”

Harry turned his head to face him, and took in his features before speaking. “I dreamt about you too.”

Draco went expressionless. “Really?”

Harry took a second to reply, but nodded once.

Draco looked at the ceiling. Harry stared at him. “Why a feather?”

Draco hummed in question, turning his jaw to face Harry again.

“Your signature, why is it a feather?”

Draco clenched his jaw, not meeting Harry’s eyes, though his features remained soft. His voice broke when he spoke, “I love flying.” Harry watched as Draco paused before continuing, almost debating if he should. “There have been times where I just wanted to… fly away. From everything. Escape.”

Harry slowly raised his hand to draw lines on Draco’s skin. “Yeah.”

“It was also one of the moments I was truly happiest.” Draco’s eyes flicked to Harry’s, almost playful. “Competing against you in Quidditch.”

Harry’s heart fluttered. “Me too.”

*

“Do you know how _difficult_ it was for me? To keep my fucking _mouth shut?_ When _I knew?_ I knew you both were drooling for one another?”

Harry laughed from next to Draco from where they sat with their friends the following weekend.

“Drooling for me?” Harry repeated.

“Fuck off, Pansy. You’ve outdone your title of traitor.” Draco sneered.

Hermione giggled. Ron leaned back in his seat. “I still can’t fucking believe it.”

“That makes two of us.” Harry said, honestly.

“Well we can.” Seamus said, downing his butterbeer. “Dean and I knew all along.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, “Oh you did, did you?”

Dean tapped his temple as he got up to get another round for everyone.

His friends fell into their conversations, and Harry turned to Draco, who was tracing the rim of his glass with his finger. He watched the movement.

“Shut up,” Draco smirked, before Harry had even said anything. Harry smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. :)  
> Remember, kudos and comments keep us Ao3 writers motivated! We love your feedback! <3


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